Not Just Pain
by twelvedaysnorthofhopeless
Summary: The first installment in a series of 100 drabbles, 100 words apiece, centered around Charles and Erik. Every tenth drabble will be more of a short story, ranging in length. SLASH.


I wrote these using a random noun generator I found on Google. I used every one of the ten I recieved, without exception, and without skipping. It was a challenge, but I like the overall effect. My hope is to publish nine more in this series, to finish with a total of 100 drabbles, 90 of them being exactly 100 words, and 10 being short stories. My goal in these writings is to either use or capture the theme of the word I am given, though I strive to do as much of the former as possible. In this set of ten, I only failed once in that effect. I hope you enjoy these! I certainly had fun writing them, and I suggest drabble-writing to anyone like me, who struggles with brevity.

Love, 12DaysNoH

**"Catholic"**

Charles recalled a conversation they'd once had: Erik had asked him, on the verge of tears, if mutants could go to heaven.

"I never took you for the religious sort," Charles had joked, to lighten his spirits. But he quickly saw Erik was sincerely distressed.

"Erik," Charles took the man's face between his hands and told him, "Being a mutant is a physical anomaly, nothing more. It is a gift, not a curse. And if I'm correct, it is our choices that determine our fate. It does not matter that you are different. It matters what you _do_ with it."

**"Organ"**

The doctor told him the bullet hadn't struck any vital organs; he would live. Barely. There were many spinal nerves, Charles knew, that if struck would leave a man brain-dead. Another inch, he'd been told, and he would never have opened his eyes again. When the doctors left the room, when the remnants of his team—his friends—left him at peace, he could finally drop the façade of strength and acceptance. Erik was gone. Raven was gone. And the whole world was uniting to eliminate mutants. He, Charles Xavier, had beaten death. But what was left to live for?

**"Interpretation"**

"Why are you so eager to believe the worst in everyone?" Charles had asked him once, without precursor or precedent, just as Erik had moved his bishop to take his friend's knight.

"You've been in my head again," he mumbled with clear exasperation.

"That's not an answer."

Erik slammed a hand on the table and said, "Because _unlike_ you, I've seen what a wretched place this is. I've grown up in darkness; I've seen monsters that you, in your perfect little palace, could never _dream_ of."

Charles observed him sadly, and then said to him, "That depends on your interpretation."

**"Shake"**

When they first met, Erik could not bear to be in Charles' presence. His constant intrusion, the way he read his mind, and most of all, the way he pretentiously claimed to understand him, all irritated him to no end. He had always preferred to be alone, and any chance he got, he broke away. But no matter where he hid, Charles always found him; he could never shake him. Finally, one day, he snapped.

_"How do you keep finding me?"_

Charles stared at him, surprised by the outburst, and innocently as ever, said, "I thought you wanted me to."

**"Advertisement"**

Erik always had to keep a close eye on Charles whenever they went out, or he was sure to go after some silly, seemingly random purchase. Once, Erik had to physically pull him away from a man who was selling hermit crabs at half price.

"What could you possibly want with a crab?" Erik had asked.

"They're cute—and they're on sale," Charles had insisted, like it was that simple to him. Erik just sighed, and said, "You're the sort who buys things off those late night TV advertisements, aren't you?"

Charles gaped at him and asked, "How'd you know?"

**"Instant"**

"You sure?" Havoc called from the other end of the room, his hands fiddling with the large device, now strapped to his chest.

"Absolutely. All you have to do is focus," Charles assured him, standing mere feet beside the mannequin that was the target. Erik's arms were crossed tightly—he could feel his nails digging into his arms. He didn't like this.

"Ready? 3…2…1-" In an instant, on pure instinct, Erik flung Charles to the ground, pinning him down. Silence. He realized Havoc hadn't even fired.

"Erik," Charles spoke up from the floor. "Perhaps you should watch from another room."

**"Apathy"**

"Erik," Charles sighed. "Give me my pen."

The object in question floated just above the paper he'd been writing, but every time he reached for it, Erik sent it scooting away with a flick of his hand. His friend slouched in his chair, the expression on his face the very definition of apathy.

"I'm bored," Erik grumbled.

"I can see that, but I have work to do," said Charles, reaching for the pen again. It zipped away, into Erik's hand.

"Kiss me, and I'll give it back." Charles glowered at him, then pulled another pen from his pocket. Erik groaned.

**"Crude"**

Hastily, Erik drew the bullet from Charles' back. It was crudely done, certainly not the work of a doctor, but he wasn't thinking, not even of the missiles he'd just allowed to drop useless into the sea. Only Charles mattered. Only Charles had _ever_ mattered.

Erik had to kill her—kill this woman who had hurt him. He closed his fingers, ready to snap her neck with the metal chain about her throat, but Charles stopped him. He _blamed_ him. No, that wasn't right, he didn't understand!

"Charles, I need you with me," he choked. "I love you."

"Erik…I _can't_."

**"Theme"**

Furious, Erik threw his hands down, watching the metal weight sink back into the water. He and Charles had been at this for hours. How could he ever kill Shaw if he couldn't even manage to get this above the surface?

"You can't work with these thoughts of yours," Charles warned gently. "When I look into your mind, I see the same themes: sadness, anger…don't you have any happy memories?" Erik stared at him, his expression full of exhaustion and pain.

"Help me make one," he said, roughly grabbing Charles' shoulders and kissing him hard before he could even think.

**"Sea"**

The sky had taken on a unique, grey sort of hue as the sun slowly came into view, casting the morning's first rays over the grand reflecting pool. From the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Erik observed the sky in silence, the only sound being the gentle breeze rippling the water's surface. He had always been an early riser. Truth be told, he wasn't a very good sleeper. Behind his closed eyes, his mind was constantly plagued with past suffering, stained with memories that only became more painful with time.

'_But soon_,' he hoped, as he watched the sun rise, '_soon I'll be able to sleep again.'_

It wasn't long before Charles joined him. He must've noticed his absence, followed his mind here. By now, Erik had grown used to Charles appearing whenever he found himself alone, always knowing exactly where to find him. At first, Erik had despised it; he'd preferred to be left to himself. Now, Charles was a natural presence, no different than the blue of the sky or the air he breathed. A presence, he found, he'd grown rather accustomed to. He sat beside Erik on the steps, the usual game tucked beneath his arm. Erik offered him a glance—a slight nod in greeting. Charles, as always, smiled brightly and began to line the pieces with a delicate precision. The sun lightly brushed his dark hair, which still showed some remnants of being slept on the night before, and the light played across his eyes much like it had upon the water, but such a comparison did not seem to do them justice.

Those eyes were a pond—a sea—all of their own. The kind of purest blue one has to see in person to fully understand. Like the sea, they became stormy when angered, the hint of grey in the irises intensifying when he lowered his face, furrowed his brow. But also like the sea, they were gentle, serene, and wise. They said, "Trust me," they said, "It's all right now," and Erik had fought initially, replying, "How? You know nothing of me, of my suffering, of the monsters I've seen. What makes you different?" But in time, that changed. The fabric woven from those eyes would be softer than silk and stronger than any rope. The ocean they created would be more vast than any the Earth could ever hope to hold. Those eyes had captivated him, and the rest of the man had quickly followed suit. And Erik was simply left to gaze, and wonder how it had all happened so quickly.

"Penny for your thoughts, my friend," Charles chuckled lightly. The board had been prepared for some time—Erik hadn't noticed.

"Take them," Erik said simply. Charles smiled, eyeing him for a moment to confirm that he had in fact offered his consent, and wasn't kidding with him. Erik watched as Charles brought his two fingers to his temple, as his face shifted from friendly curiosity to confusion, then surprise, and finally embarrassment, a soft blush dusted across his cheeks.

"You should focus—I might beat you," Erik warned, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Um…yes, of course. Unlikely," he said, quickly returning to the composed visage of the professor. But Erik had caught a glimpse of something new in those eyes, if only for a moment. And he would go to great lengths to make it appear again.


End file.
